Mmmmm
by DarkJisushiku
Summary: One member of Schwarz gets the house to himself... dun dun dun! Chocolate, the Mambo Number Five song, and no supervision could only mean some very un-Schwarzy Behavior. Please R&R.


Disclaimer: I own nothing! No, I don't own Schwarz. *sob* No, I don't own Lou Bega's Mambo Number Five. *sob* No, I don't own Herseys (*sob*), Snickers (*sob*), Milky Ways (*sob*), 3 Musketeers (*sob*), or Kit Kats (*sob*). I don't even own the Kit Kat Bar Song *SOB!!!*. Yep, I basically don't even own my computer. *notices that her house is flooded due to her crying.* Oh, well...  
  
Author's Notes: I was pigging out on candy and listening to Lou Bega's Mambo Number Five at my friend's house when I thought this one up. See what sugar highs can do to ya? A little out there, but not totally out of the ball park. Please, R&R.  
  
Warnings: Umm... Any member of Schwarz + melting chocolate deserves a warning all his own. Slight (and I mean *slight*) hints of slash. Oh, and craziness...  
  
Mmmmm...  
  
"Mmone, mwo, mee, mour, mmive. Mmmeverymoby in the car, come on lets rmmide!" sang the low pitched voice in Schwarz's apartment. The smacking of lips followed. "Moo the miquer store, 'mound the corner!"  
  
Lou Bega's Mambo Number Five was playing as loud as it could get in the attic. The old, shabby desk was buried under piles of forgotten paperwork. Pencil shavings and ink splattered the red oak wood. The chair had been knocked to the floor.  
  
One assassin danced around the room, rocking back and forth on the balls of his feet. He was home alone and he was making the most of it. Chocolate was dripping down his hand and his lips, and his long tongue was desperately trying to clean the mess off himself.  
  
And the stereo played:  
  
"The boys say they want some gin and juice but I really don't wanna  
  
Beerbust like I did last week  
  
I must stay deep, cause talk is cheap  
  
I like Angela, Pamela, Sandra and Rita  
  
And as I continue you know they gettin sweeter."  
  
The lone assassin tripped, falling to the floor. Smirking, he laid on the cold, refreshing floor. He toed his shoes off, letting his feet breathe. "Mmmmm..." He stuffed the rest of the chocolate Herseys bar in his mouth. A slim, milky white hand reached into the bottom drawer of the oak desk and produced a handful of mini chocolate bars: Herseys, Snickers, Three Musketeers, Milky Ways, and Kit Kats.  
  
And the radio played:  
  
"So what can I do I really beg you my lord  
  
To me flirtin is just like a sport  
  
Anything fly its all good let me dump it  
  
Please set in the trumpet"  
  
The chocolate-covered assassin licked the chocolate off his hand, but didn't manage to catch a few gooey drips that stained his shirt. Oh, well...  
  
"A mittle mit of Weiss in mmmy mmife," laughed the chocholic, singing and chewing at once. "A mittle mit of Manx by my mide. A mittle mit of Birman's mall I need. A mittle mit of Youji's mmwhat I see." He jumped to his feet, splashing a rain of dark drops around the room. Dancing, he sang, "A mittle mit of Kenken in the sun. A mittle mit of Omi mall night mmmmong. A mittle mit of Aya here I am. A mittle mit of you make mme your man!"  
  
More dancing. More laughing. More chocolate drips. More stereo:  
  
"Jump up and down and move it all around  
  
Shake your head to the sound  
  
Put your hands on the ground  
  
Take one step left and one step right  
  
One to the front and one to the side  
  
Clap your hands once and clap your hands twice  
  
And if it looks like this then your doing it right."  
  
"Mmmm!" moaned the assassin, licking his lips. "Mmmhocolate!" After clearing his mouth of all chocolate, he began rocking back and forth, singing, "A little bit of Schwarz in my life. A little bit of Estet by my side. A little bit of chaos is all I need. A little bit of Schuldich's what I see!" Laughter. "A little bit of Farfie in the sun." More laughter. "A little bit of Nagi all night long -"  
  
"WE'RE HOME!" hollered a voice from downstairs.  
  
Cursing rather colorfully, the assassin hurriedly straightened up the attic and licked the last bits of chocolate off himself. He slipped back on his shoes and smoothed out his wrinkled shirt. Growling, he threw his Lou Bega CD and his half-eaten candy bars into the bottom drawer of the desk and locked them safely in. Then he raced out of the room.  
  
Out of the attic, down the stairs, past the living room, through the kitchen, into the hall, and to the garage doorway. He stopped there and slyly pulled the door wide open. Then, composing his strict demeanor, he leaned ever-so-casually on the door jam, and stared accusingly into the garage. By crossing his arms around his broad chest, he managed to hide the brown stains the sprinkled his cream shirt. His comrades were unpacking the German's red sports car.  
  
"Hmm, how was your weekend?" asked the assassin indifferently.  
  
"Purrrfect," purred the German, his eyes dancing dangerously. "You missed Nagi getting slapped crimson by a girl. He was peaking up her skirt."  
  
"NO! YOU," Nagi spat, grabbing some luggage, "TRIPPED ME!"  
  
"Hn. 'Bet Nagi hurt God," Farfarello whispered.  
  
"Shuddup," Nagi hissed to the Irishman.  
  
"Too bad you had too much paperwork to do," the German drawled. "It was nice to let our hair down for one weekend. But work is your first love, right, Brad?"  
  
"Of course," agreed the loner sarcastically, stepping back into the house. But before walked away, he turned back to them, "Nagi, your late paperwork is on your bed. Schuldich, I need you to do some research on our next target. And Farfarello - you are confined to your quarters until further informed." He paused. "Oh, and I'm glad to have you back." He sneered and walked away.  
  
"Grrr... 'Schudldich I need you to do some research,' blah blah blah," mimicked Schuldich, brushing some of his redhair out of his eyes. "Danke, Mr. Icicle."  
  
"Relax. It's your fault for not realizing this would happen," Nagi snapped, floating his bags into the house as the other two followed him. "Crawford is just jealous because we had more fun than him. He probably was bored all weekend long"  
  
At the top of the stairs, Crawford smirked. "Oh, Nagi, you have nooooo idea how bored I was." And sauntering to his room, he whispered, "Give me a break, give me a break, break off a piece of that Kit Kat bar..."  
  
The End  
  
A/N: Were you surprised about who was dancing and singing? Yes? No? Please, R&R!!! Danke. ~ D.J. 


End file.
